The Avengers' Adventures at Attilan Academy
by gender-bent-highschool-aus
Summary: A gender-bent high-school AU from the POV of Nathaniel Romanova, as he infiltrates Attilan Academy (a school for aspiring secret agents, super-heroes, and potential soldiers) in order to gain information for the Red Room Agency. But how long will Nate be able to keep up the charade and lie to the ones he's growing to love? Clintasha and Blackfrost, Some Stony/Science Bros
1. Chapter 1

_Boarding school._ _I am going to a boarding school._ I had whispered this to myself over and over, but it still had not lost its meaning, or its excitement. Those two words_, "Boarding school,"_ hold my entire future in them. _I'm going to boarding school._

My old "school" was a cup of tea. I excelled at my courses; I was at the top of my class. I never did get along with my peers, due to a highly competitive atmosphere, but that wasn't a big deal. I had been taught from the start that I was not there to make friends. Then again, I wasn't here to make friend either.

I had to infiltrate Attilan Academy-the highest security private school in the world—because Attilan _trained spies. _

For a young aspiring Red Room agent, this was the opportunity of a lifetime—and I deserved it. I had passed through all the tests, survived all the experiments, and now here I am on this incredible mission.

It may not have been Red Room's top priority, but this was an inside look at the future of rival agencies. Not to mention it was a way to get out of a highly oppressive atmosphere and stretch my legs.

What could possibly be so enjoyable as this?

The limousine that had picked me up from the airport pulled through the gates of the Academy, one among many of the sleek black cars. I watched the gates as they passed by, taking note of the power-box situated on the pillars, likely to be an electric fence.

"Mister Romanova," The driver hacks in his heavy Russian accent. He hands me a telephone, expensive by the look of it. The screen flashes to life. A blond woman stares through the screen. "Hallo, Nathaniel. I vish you luck on your first day of zis mission. Ah you prepared for your briefing?"

I nod.

"As you know, ve have very leetle intelleegence on zis academy. Any and all eenformation regarding ze security, rules, and students ees to be reported. However, two students een parteecular are a point of eentrest for Red Room. I expect you to find and befriend zees gulls," Two (off the record) drop dead gorgeous girls appear on the screen. Complete opposites of each other, the one smiling goofily with long blond hair almost down to her waist waves at the camera, she shouts something, inaudible in the silence of the clip. The other is more composed and sophisticated. She rolls her drastically green eyes at her companion and flips her dark black hair over one shoulder. The clip ends with her looking dramatically at the pale ocean behind them. I take a deep breath and remember that although my mission may be nonconsequential, it is still to be taken seriously.

I exhale.

"Undeerstood?" the woman asks.

"Yes," I reply, with a firm nod. Unlike the woman, my Russian accent is neatly tucked away.

"More orders to follow. You are to report to us veekly on Saturday nights at seex o' clock. Yees?"

I simply nod this time.

"Good luck," She salutes, and the screen fizzes out again.

Suit cases in tow, I make my way up the expansive marble steps of the courtyard. I look around at the gardens and fountains, and I smile.

_You have a mission_, _and you need to take it seriously_, _but that doesn't mean you can't enjoy it._

Parents hug their children who scoff and resist. A twinge in my stomach applies to my non-agent side: the orphan. I imagine my training officer in the place of a mother- giving me a tight hug, or using a napkin to wipe food off of my chin. I laugh to myself, and click my tongue as I head inside. There are tables set up all across the entrance hall, and upperclassmen hold up signs with letters on them. I head for the R's. A quick glance at the driver's license in my hand tells me that as of now I am Nathaniel Romano_ff_. A slight difference, and one I have used as cover many times before.

I push my reddish-brown hair out of my eyes and look at the tiny blond girl in front of me. She twirls a pigtail held by a red, white, and blue ribbon. She looks up at me and squeaks, "You're an 'R'?"

I smile. She must be a visiting daughter. "I like your ribbons. Very… patriotic. Is there an adult here?"

She straightens up and sighs at me. "I'm a senior." Her bubble voice rings in my ears and I barely grasp what she means. Was that even possible?

She smiles sweetly and tilts her head to the side

A pale thin hand wraps around her mouth. "Stella, honey, you're being so niiice," a shorter-than-average (but not looking the age of 6 like her friend) girl coos, as she peeks out from behind a pigtail. "She's a bit sensitive about her size, you know. She's just an itty-bitty baby senior, yes she is!" The girl falsettos in her hindered compatriot's ear. "Now, Stella, repeat after me: 'Listen here, you insufferable prick, you wish you were half as slammin' as thi—"

Pigtails rolls her eyes, and her friend flounders away.

"Jesus H. Christ, Stella, don't _lick me_!" The girl howls, wiping her hand on her pants. Stella smiles smugly.

"Do you have a name, Mr. 'Insufferable Prick'?" She asks.

I open my mouth, but what am I supposed to say!? Nothing in my years of training ever prepared me for this… this…

"Nathaniel Romanoff," I reply, smoothing my hair back, hiding the panic under some suavity.

The girl-that-isn't-Stella swoons. "Nathahniel Romanoof" She says in an accent that is supposed to be Russian but sounds vaguely Welsh. She smiles really wide, and I notice her dimples. I _look _at her now, with her soft brown hair and freckles and I find myself goofily smiling back.

_Girls. Never in my years did they prepare me how to girls._

"Yeah, Commi, your room is on the second floor with a Mister Mark Hill. Have fun," The un-named-dimpled-goddess sings, handing me a piece of paper and pointing to the stairs.

My eyes widen and I awkwardly shuffle away. I'm used to burly Russians trying to kick my ass during training, but… girls? Girls licking each other and swearing and making jokes about Russia?

And suddenly I'm noticing them all over. Girls _everywhere_. Girls that are tall, girls that are short, girls that are black, tan, Asian, white—_Girls. _

I insert my key into the knob and turn, to no avail. I try again, and press myself against the door. I now choose to knock.

"Uh… Hello?" I call, knocking once again.

"Who is it?" A broad, deep voice grates from behind the thick mahogany door.

"Hello, I'm your roommate? I think the door is jammed…

You can hear a gruff mumble, followed by clicking and scratching. The door creaks open and a brown eye peers out. "Name?" My new roomie asks.

"Nathaniel Romanoff?" I ask

"Age?"

"16?"

"Date of Birth?"

"October 11th?"

He pauses, and the door swings open, but the gun in his hands says he isn't happy about it. "Listen here, buddy."

He gestures with the gun to come inside, and I oblige.

"I am not your friend, and I do not under any circumstances trust you. You get the bottom bunk. If you're going to have girls around here," he looks me over and nods, "then you must inform me at least 24 hours in advance. On Mondays through Fridays you will be allowed to masturbate between the hours of 4 to 5. I will from 7 to 8, so you had better clear your scrawny ass out of here by then. Understood?"

His gruff military haircut and posture make me snap to attention. The commands register and I find myself saying "Yes, Sir." Before I realize what the hell I just agreed to.

At least something here is familiar.

"We will alternate laundry duty weekly," He continues. "I will be visiting my parents on weekends, so Laundry will be done on Fridays. I expect a clean and organized environment at all times, with no exceptions. You may unpack."

And I did just that.

Author's Note:

Hi, thanks for reading! This is my first fanfic, so any input would be lovely! There will be future smut, hence the M rating.


	2. Chapter 2

I'm sitting alone in the dining hall for lunch, when The Unnamed-Dimpled-Goddess slides into the seat next to me.

"Have fun with the sergeant party?" She asks.

" I don't see how that's a party," I mumble, pushing at my mashed potatoes.

She laughs. "It's not his fault. He works for some fancy spy organization," She whispers.

"A lot of kids do," Stella says as she slides in next to her.

"So, what?" I ask, "Do these kids sign up for this? Are they, like, chosen?"

"Recently, the government started enforcing that younger operatives attend this school. Other times organizations send kids here before they start working for them, to train them, like Claire," Stella says, gesturing to the Goddess, who smiles.

"It's pretty easy to tell the difference," Claire winks. "So, who do you work for?"

"Uh," I stutter, falling into the newly discovered gaping hole in my cover.

"Come on, Claire," Stella says, hitting her friend softly. "He isn't supposed to tell us,"

Claire ignores her. "An all-boys program, I bet. Stella and I looked like the first actual girls you'd ever seen."

I squint at her. "More like the two most _obnoxious _girls I'd ever seen," I mutter. And this was true. I'd met girls before, but they were all quiet, and innocent, and _not Claire. _Red Room even had a girls division, but they were like everyone else: mindless, angry, killing machines.

She rolls her eyes. "Get used to it. I don't know what it's like where _you're_ from, but obnoxious has a whole different meaning back in Iowa."

"And what's that?" I ask.

"_That_," She hisses, nodding across the room.

I follow her gaze to find two familiar faces.

_The_ girls sit at a table and eat, surrounded by boys who try to get their attention, with sleazy smiles and cool collected expressions. The black haired girl pushes her hair over her shoulder and looks me right in the eyes. I'm startled by their brilliant green, which I can see, even from a distance.

"She's dressed like a friggin Princess," Claire hisses, and I take in the sleek black dress, and diamonds gathered around her neck. "This is school meatloaf, not dinner at the palace,"

The girl's lips twitch into a seductive smile, one that beckons me to come closer. I ignore it and turn back to Claire. I know look at her own clothing, much simpler and less poised than The Girl's. She wears a simple gray t-shirt, which hugs her lightly, and a pair of jeans that neatly wrap around her shapely legs.

"We call that 'classy'," I reply. (I don't know where it comes from, but this girl releases all this pent up back-talk and sass. I feel bad, and hope she doesn't mind.)

The differences had never really occurred to me before. I look at what was laid out for me today as a part of my cover. A simple plaid flannel and jeans. I look closer at what everyone is wearing, and, really, it's all casual. All except the two girls in a sea of boys. The blonde also wears a dress, though it is less fancy than her sister's, with a pattern of red polka-dots on white fabric. She wildly chats and flails her arms, gesturing about something while the boys around her laugh. I look back at her sister, whose dark lips close around a forkful of her lunch, her piercing green eyes still on me. Claire wraps an arm around my shoulder and waves to the girl, who simply smiles and whispers something in her sister's ear.

A group of my new peers and myself sit in rows of 5 and stare up at the white board. The bell had rung several minutes before, and we were all growing restless.

"Yoooo," A woman with reddish brown hair bursts into the room, her arms full of notebooks, a brief-case, and a mug, which sloshes coffee onto the carpet.

"You can call me 'Ms.' Or 'Sonya,' or 'Ms. Olivie,' or whatever. As long as you don't come up to me like 'Hey, asshole,' we're good." She drones. She sips at her mug and looks us all over. "Welcome to your new Home-Room. You had best like it, 'cuz we're stuck together for the next three years," She squints. "Do you guys, like, know each other?" She asks.

Several dissenting mumbles ensue.

"Let's play the name game~" She sings, her voice still maintaining its' monotone. "Everyone, get up on your desks,"

This is followed by some groans, but I oblige without hesitation.

"Oh, shut up; it's not lame if you don't keep up your ridiculous 'mature' attitude," She rolls her eyes.

I can't help but wonder if this is how all Americans act?

Claire raises her eyebrows at me as she sets herself on her desk. We were still in our casual dress for the orientation, but as of tomorrow we would all need to wear uniforms. Claire and I had sat near the back left corner. I had done so for a good vantage point and close proximity to the door, but Claire seemed to judge her position solely on me. She might've even considered us friends. This was plenty great, but to our far right was one of the girls I really needed to fall in with, the Bouncy Blonde.

"Pass the ball around; when you get it tell us your name and an interesting fact about you." The teacher looks around, before whipping the ball at my face.

My reflexes kick in, and I catch the ball without trouble.

"I don't know how you've played games before," Ms. Olivie chuckles, "but here at Attilan, things are a little different," She smiles wide and proceeds to throw three more balls into the crowd.

There are never more than 4 kids shouting their names at a time, but you can see heads whipping between students as they try to pick up different names. My training allows me to do this with ease.

"I am Tara of Asgard!" The blond girl booms, her voice creating a commanding presence that demands the attention of her peers. "My hobbies include Shot-Put and Softball!" She exclaims, and everyone in the class is quiet as they all look at her.

"On that note—times up!" Ms. Olivie drones. She flashes a devilish grin. "Now who can recite all their peers' names?"

I raise my hand without thinking.

"Oh?" She asks, and gestures for me to go ahead.

I start with myself and work row by row, until the last student.

"And, uh, Ms. Sonya Olivie," I finish.

"Yoooooo," Ms. Olivie replies, tossing me a small neon package. I catch it with both hands and look at my prize. There are some small squishy shapes inside the yellow wrapper. "Swedish Fish" is printed several times, and I squish the bulbs some more.

"You gunna eat that or just play with it?" Claire asks.

I squint, and fumble at the plastic. It eventually parts and some gummy-looking fish tumble onto my desk.

Claire is watching my every move.

I pop one in my mouth and chew, fearing the worst. I bite down and—strawberry?

I swallow. "These don't taste like fish," I mumble.

Claire chuckles, and nabs a fish off my desk. "_No,_" She whispers.

Ms. Olivie is now reviewing dress code while doodling on the board.

"And now," She drums her fingers, "rules!"

The other sophomores look at her unexcitedly.

"Shut up," She whines, "Even my fabulous self can't make this interesting."

She gets out a sheet of paper and clears her throat. "As many of you will soon discover, many of our students have super-human abilities. Others have been genetically modified. These and any other skills that could be life-threatening are prohibited from use outside of PE classes,"

I look around my class and wonder which kids are which. I, myself, am genetically modified, with the only proof being a couple of unnoticeable scars. I stare at the-boy-in-front-of-me's neck, looking for possible signs.

"Also, bullying in this school will not be tolerated, nor will fighting. Due to the dangerous nature of many of our powers, and the possible damage these events could cause, either of these offenses will result in expulsion, and the possible involvement of the authorities." She looks at us, now, and has seriousness in her eyes. "You aren't just here to become agents," she says. "You're here to learn how to live with the world, learn how to use your powers to help people. You're all very special kids, and we aren't letting you go to waste," She still has a deadly look in her eyes. "And if you don't cooperate with this mission of ours, then you will be removed from society." She reads from the paper again. "We look forward to your cooperation in these matters, and are looking forward to a wonderful year. Signed Chairman O'Dean, Principal Fury, and Vice-Principal Coulson."

I wake up and rub the sleep from my eyes. It's 6 am. Technically classes don't start until 8, but the soldier in me can't help but get an early start. Sergeant Party is already awake, doing sit-ups on the floor.

I don't bother greeting him.

"Dining Hall opens at 6:30," he says. I nod in comprehension.

I walk over to my half of the closet, and dig through my uniform options. I want to make a good impression, so I figure a tie is an option. We never really had to dress up back home, unless we were going on missions. I remember when I was nine going to a ball held by an opposing political officer. A blonde woman (whose name I had forgotten long ago) acted as my mother and another officer as my father. I remember holding their hands as we walked inside, me in a tiny tuxedo. If I tried hard enough, I could convince myself that they were, in fact, my parents, and that we were a normal family attending the party. I could pretend that I really had gotten lost, and somehow managed to find myself in the official's office. But I couldn't pretend the envelope I left on his desk was normal, nor were the photos of he and his mistress, of him in his bathroom, intrusions upon his most intimate privacies, or the note on simple red paper that read "уйти в отставку или умереть"- _Resign or die_.

I sigh, and pull out some fitted black slacks, a white button down, and a red silk tie.

_It seemed like wherever I went I couldn't escape all the red._

And I wasn't the only one. As I walked into my covert operations class, the entire room was full of red. But, alone in the corner sat a green—a freshman in a sea of sophomores. She certainly stood out, and not because of her uniform. Rather, it was Tara's sister, with the long black hair and the cold, calculating eyes. It felt as though I had finally caught a break, as the seat next to hers was empty. I set down my briefcase, and she turns to me; a slow smile creeps across her face.

"Lara O'Dean," she purrs, her voice as cold as her eyes, chiming like soft tinkling icicles.

"Nathaniel Romanoff," I reply, flashing a smile that I can only hope is charming. After my panic with the girls yesterday, I reminded myself that I am a secret-fucking-agent, and that I know how to win people over, whether they have breasts or not.

She pushes her long black hair over her shoulder. "Are you from Russia?" She asks.

"Yes, actually," I smile.

"I'm from Norway," she smiles. There's no accent in her voice.

"Really?" I ask, "You don't sound Norwegian,"

"Just as you do not sound Russian," she replies.

"Touché," I reply.

The bell rings, and, once again, there is no instructor in sight. I sigh.

A loud bang interrupts my thoughts of incompetent teachers and I whirl around to where the noise came from. The clock on the wall is sparking and releasing a cloud of smoke.

"Welcome to Covert Operations," A deep voice says from the front of the room.

The entire class's heads whirl back around, and a tall curvy woman in a black dress smiles at us. She sits on her desk with her long tanned legs crossed and a smug look on her face.

I turn back to the clock, which is now functioning normally.

"There aren't many people that can sneak past me," Lara whispers.

"She was in the roof," I whisper back, pointing to the slightly shifted tile above Ms. Trepepi's desk.

"Very good, Ginger," The tall muscular woman replies, running a hand through her short black hair.

I'll admit I was impressed. Not only had her entrance been a step away from flawless, but she had heard my whisper from a good 6 meters away.

With all the kids either looking at me or gaping at Ms. Trepepi, she continues, as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened. "I assume you all have noticed this is the only class you have every day of the week," She says, "And that's because it's the most important. Whether you're going into an actual covert operations business, or if you're going to be an accountant, you kids will need to learn to _blend_."

She paces across the front of the room with her hands folded behind her back.

"We live in a society that is not exactly approving of differences. You only need one year of CoOps to graduate. This class is one of our advanced classes, hence it only being offered to sophomores and above, or-"she gestures to Lara, "freshman if they can pass the entrance exams.

" In this particular co-ops class we will be focusing more on the appliance of secrecy in a business like atmosphere. In other words, you guys are what we like to call 'careers'. You plan on making a living with your powers, super-human or otherwise, whether through the military or an agency.

"Also, for those of you that are new to Attilan Academy, I am in charge of 'visiting' rules enforcement." She flashes a smile and a couple chuckles emerge from those I can only assume are _not_ new to Attilan Academy. "You're allowed to have the opposite sex in your room before 9 o'clock, but you _must have the door open_. After 9 o'clock you may not have visitors of the opposite sex, but curfew will not be enforced until 10 o'clock, with lights out at 11. I will not respond to tattle-tales. As our head CoOps instructor, I myself need to catch you, in the act, with my two eyes. If you can avoid my attention, or be," she coughs, "_covert_, you can do what you want."

She smiles.

"But trust me—you can't avoid my attention."


	3. Chapter 3

Lara and I walk out of the class together. She doesn't seem the type for small talk, so I don't make any. Once we're out in the hallways an opera-like voice booms from behind us.

"Laaaaraaaa!"

Lara sighs.

Her sister jumps up on her shoulders. "Who's your friend?"

"This is Nick," she replies, not skipping a beat.

"Nate," I correct her and shake Tara's hand. She shakes back with a firm grip and some obvious muscle.

"Older boys?" Tara asks, a big goofy smile on her face. "One from _my_ grade! My _homeroom_!"

"We have CoOps together," she replies. She shares none of her sister's enthusiasm.

"He's such a sophomore his _hair_ is red," Tara giggles.

"That, or he was born with red hair," Lara deadpans.

"You're no fun," Tara laughs and hits her. "You're sitting with us at lunch, Noah!"

Before I can correct her she's gone.

"Any siblings?" Lara asks me.

"Something like that," I sigh, thinking of my red room 'family'. "Less… friendly."

She nods.

"We share a room," she says. "You should come over some time."

I can only imagine their room is nice, being the chairman's daughters'. I'm surprised she even invited me, with her quiet, introverted exterior.

Maybe this would be easier than I thought.

She turns into a classroom, but calls over her shoulder. "See you at lunch, Nico,"

And then she did.

Upon my coming in to her field of vision, Tara leaps over the table and runs across the lunch room, and then proceeds to wrap her arms around my head, resulting in my face being smashed against her chest. Not exactly a bad position to be in, but embarrassing nonetheless. When she lets go, she has the same goofy smile on as before. She grabs my hand and tugs my arm like a needy child. "We're over here!" She coos, as if I hadn't seen the spectacle she had made of coming to get me. She continues to drag me over, and I try to turn to Claire and Stella, who are sitting by where I had been headed, but this results in me flopping along by the incredibly fast-paced and _strong _Tara. When she finally has me back at their table, the whole lunchroom is looking, and I'm getting some pretty nasty looks from guys- and one girl, with soft brown hair and dimples.

_I'm sorry_, I mouth. And I am. Were it not for my previous obligations I would be right by her side.

"Your friends can come sit over here," Lara says, her eyes looking at me with more analysis than usual. I'm being tested.

"Not necessary," I reply.

"But I insist!" Tara bellows. She stands on her chair and waves her arms at Claire and Stella.

Lara sighs, and I raise my eyebrows to her, similarly to the face Claire is making at me as she walks over, followed by Stella and a girl I don't recognize. The third girl has legs that go on for kilometers and long dark hair pulled back into a pony tail. She's a senior, like Stella, and her light blue shirt hangs open. Her skirt is pulled up far beyond the dress code length, and one of her stockings droops.

"Is that Antoinette Stark?" Lara asks, her eyes following the girl.

"Damn right it is," Antoinette Stark says as she plops down a couple seats down from us. "But to you I'm T-O-N-I-E Tonie."

"And this is Claire" I say, gesturing to the slightly peeved and confused girl on my right.

"And I'm Stella," she says. "Nate, do you want my lunch? I packed it without thinking, when I need to fast for my procedure tomorrow," She squeaks.

"That's so sweet of you," Tara squeals, clearly infatuated with Stella's cutesy appearance.

"Indeed," Lara mumbles, the icicles in her voice again.

"What are you getting done?" I ask.

Stella begins to speak, but Claire covers her mouth.

"You'll see," She purrs, a hint of mischief in her voice.

"Nate, I could_ kill_ you," Claire hisses. "Did I not make my feelings on that girl clear?"

"Isn't that a bit… I don't know, superficial?" I ask.

She crosses her arms, and her legs are spread lightly; she's holding her ground. "I get a bad feeling about her," She pouts.

I sigh and rub between my eyes. I like Claire. But if she gets in the way of my mission, than what am I supposed to do?

"Give her a chance? Tara's nice," I reply. I try to plead to her with my eyes, and she meets my gaze with an intense glare.

We stand like this for a little while before she rolls her eyes. "Fine," she groans. "Tonie is having a 'welcome-back-to-hell party'; her words, not mine. You're invited. And if you want, your friends are, too."

I smile at her, and say:

"Thanks, Claire."

My sincerity not only surprises myself, but Claire as well. She gives me a strange look, which I awkwardly meet, blushing slightly. Her lips part slightly, as if she wants to say something, but instead she studies me—sizes me up—like a hawk eyeing its' prey.

She smiles now, and lucky for me, I won't be preyed upon today.

I walk into the polished arena that is the academy's gym. Its magnitude was at least that of the main complex of the school, meaning that the only place for it was out back. The architecture vaguely resembles that of the coliseum.

I'm walking into the round entrance when arms wrap around my neck and legs around my waist. I stumble and Tara smiles in my ear. "Hey! Looks like we've all got PE together, too!" she giggles. She releases me and I turn. All five of my newfound friends stand on the dirt path, Stella standing with Tonie, the two of them with linked arms. As Tara is by my side, that leaves Claire and Lara standing as far away from each other as possible, both with their arms crossed.

I sigh. _So much for giving her a chance_.

Tara smiles at me, oblivious to the discomfort of her sister. "This is gunna be the best class yet!" She squeals, and she jumps high in the air. The wind picks up her skirt, and Lara cringes. Tara is once again oblivious.

The six of us walk in together, and are met with a sea of kids, all from different grades, the majority being in yellow: Juniors.

"So," I look at the uniforms of my companions. Red, Blue, and Green. "Why are we in the same classes as juniors?"

Lara stares me down. "Classes here at Attilan are based on skill. Do you not even remember your application?"

"Uh…" My superiors had handled all of the application process.

"You kids here for class or are you just hanging out?" A deep voice bellows from behind us.

I turn to find the single most muscular human being I have ever seen. It seems that muscle covers every centimeter of their body.

"So? You going to join the rest of the class?" She booms. She's at least six feet tall, and almost as wide across. _Does she even have a neck?!_

"Sorry, Mrs. Cleo," Stella hums.

"Stella Rogers? Are you still in Junior-year PE?!" The woman—Mrs. Cleo—shouts, her voice reverberating through my body. "And you, too, Stark?"

"What can I say?" Tonie says, flashing a villainous smile, "I dig yellow,"

The giantess shakes her head. "Well, let's get started," She calls, her words echoing through the gym to the other students.

"Welcome to Junior-Year PE!" Mrs. Cleo exclaims, throwing her arms wide, and gesturing to the second floor of the circular building, which is much like a classroom. We sit in desks, and she has a blackboard—the only difference is the series of weapons hanging upon the walls. There are swords, and knives, and guns, and any weapon imaginable—some even I can't identify.

"For those of you that are new to Attilan," _she winks at me and I swear to god her eyelid has muscles_, "This is where you will be learning fighting skills and defense. I know Ms. Trepepi would like to tell you her class is the most important, but defending yourself is always an important skill. However, the majority of you have very well developed skills in the art of defense, hence your continuation of the Phys. Ed. Class. This year we will be expanding your basic weapons training until you will be able to pick a weapon of choice," this invokes some excited murmurs, "and be able to use any weapon available accurately. If you fail to do so, you will not pass the course, but this won't have many negative repurcussions as a third year of Phys. Ed. Training is not required. However, if you want to be persistent, like these two mutts," She gestures to Stella who blushes wildly, and Tonie who takes a small bow from the confines of her desk, "then you may take the class, over and over, until you're seniors.

"For the first week of training, we will be experimenting with sparring partners. It's good to find someone you're comfortable with, and someone that is on a similar skill level. So, everybody pair up."

Claire claims me almost immediately.

"Any excuse to slap you around," She says with a little wink. When I look at her she seems almost harmless. Her arms aren't particularly muscular, and she isn't excessively graceful.

_I'll just have to go easy on her._

We line up on the mat, and couples are sparring around us, throwing punches and dodging and kicking. Tonie and Stella are lined up—an odd pair, with Stella being half Tonie's size, but Stella is giving it everything she has, comparing nicely with Tonie's lazy attitude. Tara and Lara are also lined up—and let me say I have never seen a more viscous battle. The two are practically flying at each other, grunting and yelling as they go. The two are incredibly evenly matched—it seems neither can truly land a blow.

As I'm watching them, a blur catches the corner of my eye—Claire is flying at me. I roll to her side, hoping to throw her with the momentum she has already built. But Claire is surprisingly light on her feet; it seems with a simple touch of the floor she is hurtling at me once again. She jumps up for a flying side kick, and I lean slightly to the right, catching her as she misses, and locking her lightly. She easily breaks my hold and throws me over her shoulder. I spin in the air and manage to catch myself on my feet, but she's already throwing another punch. I catch it in my hand and twist, but she throws a kick which catches me in the gut. I gasp, trying to compose myself when her knee comes into view. I slam my back against the floor, and soon Claire is tumbling over me. I roll myself over on to her and use my hands to press her wrists into the ground, simultaneously locking her ankles with my legs.

I pant on top of her. "That..." I suck in. "That was impressive."

She smiles, and slams her head into my shoulder, causing me to flail. She takes advantage of my dropped guard and locks me into a similar position to what I held before, but with her elbow crossed against my neck to prevent me from head-butting as she had.

She flips her hair. "Yeah," She inhales, trying to hide her heavy breathing, "no big,"

Mark smiles at me when I return to our dorm. He's throwing his uniform into the wash and he hangs his yellow tie in the closet.

"Saw you got your ass handed to you by a girl," he dead-pans.

"One hell of a girl," I reply, looking out the window at the kids gathered in the gardens.

"Yeah, Claire's quite the badass. I'm not really surprised she beat you," He looks me up and down again and his lips tighten. "She doesn't seem like it but that girl is a fighting machine. Wait until we cover archery,"

"Yeah?" I ask.

"Girl's got a hawk's eye," He replies.


	4. Chapter 4

I take out my small black leather notebook that night and write (in Russian, just in case). I write about some notes to bring up in my Saturday report, like the classes offered and some of the security I've noticed around the school (several locked rooms and labs with "Staff Only" labels, electromagnetic locks, security camera locations, etc.). Then I flip to a new page and write about the people I've encountered.

Stella, who was so polite and quiet, acted as if we were all her superiors and knew not to talk back to us or even risk the slightest infringement upon our expectations. She was like the boys back at the Red Room, all quiet, but more calculating and sinister. Stella seemed more afraid. But then I saw her sparring today, and she was nothing short of brave and fierce.

Tara, with her bubbly personality and instant welcoming of me as soon as she saw Lara and me together, made my job easier, being as pleasant and friendly as she was. She barely knew my name before she started treating me like the best of friends. I think Tara may have surprised me the most, even though all of these girls did, with her incessant happiness and love. I had never seen anything like it. It was almost a childish glee that bubbled from her. I remembered being younger, and loving. I thought that the Red Room was a family. It wasn't until I grew up that I saw other people—whether on missions or just when I went out—there were couples smiling and _real_ families together. Always _together_. Like they didn't have a care in the world.

I sigh. If only the real world was like that. If only love wasn't just for children, and those naïve as such. If only those people could look around them at all the death and anger and hate. Is that not what life is composed of? Instinct, anger, and competition?

Lara seemed like that. She seemed just like the boys at the Red Room. Her emerald eyes were always reading, always calculating, and always evaluating. There is something charming in her, though I cannot place it. She is calm, and beautiful, and mysterious. I certainly didn't mind investigating her.

Tonie shared her calmness, but unlike Lara, she was _easygoing_. Everything about Lara seemed forced and intentional, when Tonie simply _was._

And then there was Claire. Oh boy, was there Claire.

I knock softly on the mahogany door in front of me.

There's no answer.

I knock louder this time and hear nothing but silence. I prepare to knock again when the door swings open. Lara smiles softly at me. She wears no make-up, but her creamy complexion and her brilliant eyes make the concept of changing one's self entirely unnecessary. Her hair is as glossy and smooth as ever, and she steps aside with the practiced grace of a ballerina.

"Come in," She croons, and I do as she says.

As I had previously expected, the girls' dorm is far nicer than those for the other students. There is a small living space with an adjoining bedroom. The door is open and Tara smiles up at me from her lap top. She sets it next to her and leaps onto the floor before wrapping me in her signature face-to-breasts-crushing hug.

"Why are you here?" She asks, pulling lightly on my jacket. "Miss me too much?" She flips her blonde hair and giggles softly before gesturing to the couch for me to sit down. I walk over and balance myself on the soft black fabric. The entire room is furnished with a very modern ebony and ivory theme with a lush white carpet and dark walls.

"I actually came to invite you to a party," I reply, smiling falsely at the two of them. To be honest a party doesn't seem pleasant to me. Even at home, during training, when we held false parties in order to prepare ourselves for such situations, all the rules and mannerisms seemed not only uncanny, but unnecessary as well. Why did a meal need so many courses? Why must one use this spoon for this and that spoon for that? Not to mention, the attire was not only uncomfortable, but inconvenient. Do you know how hard it is to climb through an air duct in a tuxedo?

"Sweet," Tara replies. "Details? Do you want a soda?" She stands up and walks to the fridge before I can decline. She removes a red can and brings it to me.

I explain the get-together, and Tara seems surprisingly interested. She seems a bit more rowdy than your typical tea-time crowd. Lara, who looked particularly unenthused (by which I mean more so than usual), seems more the classy type.

"So you'll pick us up around 8?" Lara says as she sits down next to me and crosses her long legs, placing them just close enough to my legs that I could reach out and touch them—rub my hand up her smooth, alabaster skin and up, up, up…

"I'm sure the party will be held off campus," she says, her dark red lips shining like candy. "Do you own a car? Or should we rent one for the evening?" Her green eyes penetrate me, their depth holding me for a moment. It's hard to look away; her eyes are so beautiful. Like green pools, they shine, and the intricate pattern their colors weave give the effect of her pupils being deep holes in a green landscape.

"Rather, I'd prefer to get a car," She continues, looking away and breaking my trance. "We can all have fun that way," She smiles at me, her deep lips a slash across her face.

"I've always wanted to go to a Stark party," Tara says. "Ms. Antoinette has quite the reputation," She winks at me now.

"Tonie does?" I ask

Tara giggles, and I sit there, baffled. Had she thought I was joking?

Lara pats my leg softly, and her touch sends chills through my body. I've never been with a girl before, but the guys at the Red Room used to brag in detail about some of their experiences, so I knew the basics, and obviously I had touched myself. But otherwise girls were—and still are—a mystery to me.

"_What are you wearing?"_

I look down at my fitted black tuxedo and then back up at Claire. "Is there something wrong with it?" I ask.

She stares at me with her soft grey eyes. She looks good, but a bit under-dressed. She has jet black leggings that accentuate her toned legs leading up to a deep purple tank-top covered by a dark grey vest—like something in a fashion magazine. "Oh, honey," She sighs, as she leads me back into the room and starts digging through my closet.

"Girl," Mark hisses, glaring at me.

"Chill your balls, Mark," Claire groans, "I'll be in here for two seconds." She throws a pair of dark jeans at me before turning back to her search.

"Jeans?" I ponder aloud.

"Yes, jeans, what do you want: a spandex leotard?" She deadpans.

It would be more practical.

"Have you ever even been to a party?" She accuses.

"All the time," I reply. "Back in Russia we used to have incredibly frequent dinner parties—"

"Dinner parties?" She scoffs. "Are you a forty year old man?"

"Yes," I reply, before I can catch myself.

She stops digging and stares at me for a moment. At first I think she's going to yell at me, but instead she starts chuckling to herself.

"For an unsociable idiot, you have some nice clothes," She now throws at me a simple white tee shirt, a leather jacket, and a red belt. "You didn't strike me as a rich kid." I wonder about the clothes. I had only looked at them very briefly when I hung them up after my arrival, not thinking much of them. But, as Claire had exhibited many times, it seemed clothes were an important part of this setting.

"Get dressed," She sighs, looking at me. I unbutton my suit jacket and her eyes widen.

"_In your bathroom_, you freak," she sighs, her mouth open as one hand rests effortlessly on her hip, and the other raises up, questioning me. "Who even _are _you?"

Claire and I say goodbye to Mark after she questions me about what I'm taking with me (a bag), what I might need (money), and what I definitely don't need (pocket knife, but when she isn't looking I slip it in my shoe anyway). We then head upstairs to the O'Deans' room. Just before I knock, the door swings open and Lara glares at me.

"You're late."

"Our party virgin tried wearing a tuxedo, so I saved us all some embarrassment," Claire chuckles.

The tips of Lara's mouth quirks, and she eyes me as a cat does a mouse: amused.

I look down at what _she's _wearing, and I can only be incredibly glad Claire stopped me from being too formal. Lara, as usual, put a classy air on her outfit while still remaining suited for the occasion: with a short leather miniskirt, knee length black boots, and a glittery green top with a neckline that plummeted and showed a lovely amount of cleavage. I try not to stare too hard at her, but she looks lovely. I look into her eyes and the dark smudged make-up that surrounds them, and I find myself taking back the un-necessity of make-up. No matter what Lara does, she looks beautiful. And her sister shares that quality; she peers at from behind Lara. She giggles. "You look great,"

"Thank you," Claire sighs

Tara tilts her head to the side, but Claire doesn't offer an explanation. Tara ducks under her sister's arm and twirls in the hallway, her simple red dress fluttering alongside her.

"Let's-a-go" She sings, skipping along despite the size of her heels.

Lara, Claire, and I follow, with one on either side of me, neither of them saying much, but not uncomfortably so.

The four of us end up standing in the tidy office, when we encounter a shorter but skinny woman. "Oh my!" She sings, looking all of us up and down. "You all look so _cute_!" She squeals.

She turns to Claire, "Is Stella with you? I bet she looks like a little doll when she's all dressed up like that!" she gushes.

"Uh, Actually Ms. Coulson, she had her procedure done today, so she's not exactly, um,"

"Oh!" The woman—Ms. Coulson, the vice-principal—gasps. "But where are you headed?"

"We're having a little get together with Antoinette Stark," Tara sings.

"Oh, yes, Tonie's friend Peter told me about this, such a nice young boy, much like you, honey; what's your name?" The woman smiles at me so grandly I feel overwhelmed.

"Uh," I reply

"That's Nathaniel Romanoff," A deep voice booms from the doorway behind Ms. Coulson. "A new student from Russia," A tall black woman smiles at me, and winks. Or blinks. I can't tell, since one of her eyes is covered by a patch. "He's _very_ promising."

She glides over to us and shakes my hand firmly. "Nice to meet you, young man." She looks the four of us over, and due to her commanding presence, I can only assume that this is Mrs. Nicole Fury, the Principal.

"Nicki, dear, don't keep them, they're only here to sign out," Coulson chimes, and hands us a clip-board. We all sign our names, one by one.

As we turn to leave, Mrs. Fury calls to us. "I'm looking forward to seeing more of you four."

Claire looks at me quizzically as the door swings shut. "_Very promising_?" She teases.

I shrug and hold the door open for my companions and watch as the two sisters glide gracefully down the steps, followed by Claire.

A woman leans against the black BMW in a golden suit. Her hair is tied loosely behind her head, and she watches us carefully. Though she has dark skin, her eyes are a beautiful golden color and they practically glow in the dark.

"Hello, Heimdall," Lara says.

"Good Evening, Madame Loki," the driver replies.

_Loki_? Lara winces.

"_Lara_," she corrects.

"You may fool those around you, but you will not play your tricks on me, Madame Loki," Heimdall sighs. Though her tone is vaguely scolding, it has the soothing deep tones of a cello.

_But what does she mean play tricks? _I made the connection between Loki and tricks, but why did she refer to Lara as this? _They are Norwegian, it's possible that it was some sort of pet name._

Tara sighs. "Heimdall, _please_." she whispers.

The woman's eyes seem to glow even brighter. "Do not forget your heritage, daughters of Odin. Where would you like to go?"

"The Stark Mansion." Lara replies, looking coldly at the peculiar woman.

"As you wish." She replies, and she holds the door open for the girls, who hop in. I follow suit, and the door closes behind me. The four of us sit on the luxurious couches provided, and I try to peer out the window, but the tint is practically opaque.

Claire seems to be having similar troubles. "Why are the windows so dark?" She asks, pressing her face against the glass. Both Tara and Lara seem rather fidgety.

"Well, we are of a wealthy family, you know," Lara replies. "There is a bit of fame surrounding us, but luckily nothing like the Stark family," She chuckles. Something is definitely up.

"And who's Heimdall?" I ask.

"Heimdall has served our family for… many years." Lara replies.

Tara plays with her ring. I've seen it before, with its square-ish shape and unique pattern. She always wears it, and plays with it when she's nervous. There is definitely something suspicious about this.

The blonde turns to her sister. "Maybe this wasn't the best idea," she whispers, and Lara gives her a silencing look.

Before I can ask what's bothering Tara, the car accelerates and throws us backwards. It catches Claire off guard, and she tumbles into Lara, who awkwardly looks down at the brown-haired girls face in her crotch. I slide across the seat and am pressed into the wall.

"How fast are we going?" I shout over the sound of air rushing around the car.

"Well," Tara begins to reply when as soon as it had started, the car stops, and Claire and I flail towards the front.

"Jesus Christ!" She shouts.

The door pops open and Heimdall peers in. "Is there a problem, Ms. Barton?" She asks.

"Are we _here_?" Claire asks, looking out at the mansion behind us.

Heimdall simply smiles and steps aside, allowing us to climb out.

"I took a very colorful little shortcut," She chuckles.

**Author's Note:**

Sorry for the wait, everyone. the next chapter will be nsfw, just so you know.


	5. Chapter 5

**Warning : NSFW/Dub-Con**

I didn't know what to expect upon coming to a casual "party", but it is not the spectacle before me. Loud music with a heavy beat is still distinguishable despite our being at the end of the drive. However, the music is almost drowned out by a sea of white noise—the voices of hundreds of people and the clashing and breathing of their existence. It is almost breathtaking to see all these people here together, being alive, solely for the point of it.

A girl runs across the yard with nothing covering her chest. She incoherently roars something before she loops around to the backyard.

"Welcome to a famous Stark Party," Claire sings.

When we find our way inside the house, we're greeted by flashing lights and a sea of bodies that gyrate with the music. Girls' hair flies across their heads, and their limbs all seem to flail to the beats of the bouncy soundtrack, but the men in the crowd just vaguely bounce their bodies, allowing the girls to put on the real show.

"Over here," she replies, "I promised Stella we would meet her by the waterfall,"

"The _what_?" I ask, but Claire can't hear me over the music. She grabs my hand and pulls me through the crowd pushing through others as we proceed. I feel like a ragdoll being dragged behind her, smashing into every person we pass. Eventually the crowd subsides, and we find ourselves at the foot of a beautiful marble staircase. Couples mingle, leaning against the railings or sitting on the steps, all sipping out of red cups. We pass them all, and reach the top to find a completely different spectacle than that of downstairs. Groups sit together on the couches, laughing and talking wildly. Tonie sits by the bar, leaning forward so far she could tip out of her seat as she makes conversation with the taller strawberry-blond boy who is making drinks. She pushes her hair back and stares up at him, clearly being seductive, but the boy rolls his eyes and says something matter-of-factly which causes Tonie to lean back in her seat and make a pouty face at her victim.

Claire takes my hand and leads me into the room just beyond Tonie and her friend, and are greeted with the soft sound of trickling water. The waterfall is set up in the middle of the room with glass surrounding it and lights built into the structure, giving it an ethereal glow. I look around for Stella, but she isn't anywhere to be found.

A tall, thin blonde waves to me from across the room, though I've never seen her before. Claire's jaw drops and she walks over. She takes the blonde's hand and twirls her around, whilst laughing nervously. I walk over as well and give Claire an inquiring look, but all she does is stare at me bug eyed and gesture to the girl, who pulls fistfuls of her skirt and giggles giddily as I approach. Her skirt is interesting, with its red, white, and blue plaid. I'm not exactly style-conscious, but I recognize that it is slightly tacky. However, it complements her white sleeveless blouse very nicely, as she looked both patriotic and professional.

"Who's your friend?" I ask Claire.

Claire laughs, and the Blonde rolls her eyes.

"Come on, Nate, it's not that bad,"

I stare blankly at her.

"Stella, Nate. It's _Stella_," Claire squeaks.

I continue to stare blankly.

"But, you're….not?" I examine her closely.

"But I…am" She replies giggling. She turns to Claire. "We should have told him what the procedure was! Look at the poor man!"

I look at her with a whole new perspective. In one day, Stella has gone from being the physical equivalent of a ten year old to having the curves and muscles of someone who is at the very least 25. Her legs are long and smooth, and her arms are finely toned. Her breasts stretch the fabric of her shirt, looking plump and fat.

"_Oh"_ I whisper.

"Oh, stop fussing." Stella laughs, clearly nervous, and she guides us to a sofa by a large picture window.

"As soon as the two of you calm down I think we should go dance," She smiles pleasantly. "I would drag Becky out there, but she's off with some guy,"

"I don't know if we can dance with three people," I say, making as much small talk as necessary to get through the night.

"Well, then I finally get an excuse to not make a fool of myself because of Stella's hobbies," Claire chirps, relaxing into the cushions. "You two go ahead, I don't mind people-watching,"

I stand and bow, offering my hand to Stella, who blushes profusely, before lightly taking it. I hide my sweat at the thought of trying to dance among the gyrating mess that was the crowd downstairs. I tuck her arm through mine, and we walk linked together down the stairs.

I breathe a sigh of relief as the song that is now playing is far slower than the frantic bass-thumping noise from earlier. Stella smiles broadly as we begin to glide across the floor, stepping in time with the slow music. We stand toward the outside edge of the pit, so we have room to move freely.

My instincts almost make me pull her closer, but I reject the notion and keep her at arm's length.

"I'm sorry if I misstep," she calls, "I'm not quite used to this new body,"

"You're doing fine." I call back. And I'm not saying it to comfort her, she's a natural.

"I used to have a friend I danced with," She says, still keeping time. "My dear friend Perry," She looks almost wistful. "I didn't know the first thing about dancing back then, but he loved it, so I learned to." I twirl her slowly. "We danced all the time," She sighs.

"Then why isn't he here escorting you on this fine evening?" I ask, keeping up the princely routine and smiling down at her.

"I lost him in a plane crash," She shouts, and I raise my eyebrows. "It was a long time ago, so don't worry about me,"

For the first time, I look at Stella as what she is—an 18 year old adult. Her smile hides pain, and her eyes are that of a wise old man.

A hand taps her on the shoulder, and she breaks our pace to turn away. Antoinette Stark immediately grabs her hands and pulls her away. "Sorry, buddy," She smiles, looking down at Stella.

I laugh, when a tap lands this time on my shoulder, and I turn to find the beautiful Lara O'Dean smiling up at me.

"On the dance floor alone?" She asks, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.

"I make a point to remember all the beautiful girls I invite to these things," Tonie whispers, her lips brushing against Stella's ear. The blonde stands rigid and trips over her feet, and Tonie catches her, meeting her bright blue eyes with her own and smiling goofily.

"Tell me your name, sweetheart,"

Stella's brow furrows. "Well," she gulps.

"I'm sorry," Tonie sighs, "Do you not go my way?"

"That's not it," Stella croaks, staring into Tonie's chocolate eyes.

Tonie dips her softly, and Stella whimpers.

"Then what's the problem?" Tonie pulls her back up. "You seem to like dancing,"

"I do," Stella gasps.

"So it's me, then?" Tonie laughs, searching her commpanion's eyes. "Heard rumors about the infamous Antoinette Stark?"

"Well, yes," Stella nods, "but-"

"Don't you know every girl needs a bad influence in her high-school years?" Tonie laughs, and the song ends, but she maintains her grip.

Stella looks as though she's going to throw up. "Tonie," she hisses. "It's _me: Stella._"

Tonie takes a step back and her eyes widen, but she swallows and regains her composure. "Stella, I'm sorry, I had no idea," her eyes plead. "I didn't know" She wrings her hands. "So, the surgery, uh, went well I take it?"

Stella laughs nervously and nods. "Claire's upstairs, I think I've left her alone for long enough," the girl whimpers, before turning around and bolting.

Lara squeezes herself against me, and plays with the hair at the nape of my neck. We rock back and forth slowly to the beat—though completely different from the formal dancing Stella and I were doing not moments before.

"So how are you enjoying Attilan?" Lara asks, her voice deep and throaty.

"It's great," I reply, my voice lightly strained from my efforts to stay calm.

"Make any… friends?" She asks.

"I could ask you the same thing, since it's also your first year,"

"Oh, I don't count, with my dad being the headmaster."

The song stops, and we split apart slightly, her hands sliding down to my chest.

I open my mouth to speak, but she interrupts me. "One more song?" She asks, her green eyes piercing me.

"I'm actually really thirsty," I gasp, worried about my well-being if I'm pressed against a beautiful woman for much longer.

"Then let's get you something to drink." She says, all her ice gone, replaced by a warm, inviting composure. She takes my hand in hers and leads me to a second bar downstairs. She sits in the stool opposite mine, and smiles at me, her plump lips stretched. She knocks her knees against mine, and turns to the boy manning the bar.

"Vodka, for the Russian," She purrs.

I laugh, and try not to think about the legal drinking age in America.

Our drinks come in the red plastic cups I had seen earlier, and in more than generous amounts. I swish it around lightly.

"What?" Lara teases, "Can't handle a little tough alcohol?"

I smile at her, and for the sake of the mission, tip back my head and take a swig. She follows suit, and looks up at me.

"You never did say if you'd made any friends," She purrs.

"There are a couple girls," I reply, looking her up and down. "A formerly midget senior, an archer, and two sisters,"

"Sisters?" She asks, raising her eyebrows.

"One is very blonde, and very…excitable."

I take another shot of my beverage and it burns down my throat.

"The other is…" I look her in the eyes, and they tell me to continue.

"_enigmatic" _I whisper_._

When I hit the bed, the alcohol has already sunken in. A warm body presses onto me, and I feel lips on mine and hands snaking over my chest. Lara sits on top of me and when she pulls away, I gasp.

"Lara, we shouldn't" I slur. The alcohol is taking effect much quicker than usual, and I can already feel my mind slipping.

She presses her soft lips against my neck and whispers in my ear.

"_Ssssh," _after the noise fades her tongue flicks out against my ear and I moan softly.

"_Really_," I gasp "we can't"

She responds by lifting my shirt off of me, exposing my chest. She runs her thin hands across it and licks her plump lips. Her hands rub in tiny circles from my ribs to my stomach, just above my jeans, and I find myself gasping at her every move. She now lowers her lips onto my skin and leaves a soft trail of kisses down, down, down…

My head swims, and all I can feel is her touch. She kneels on the ground in front of me, and I can see down her shirt, where her supple breasts lie—just waiting to be touched.

"Just tell me what you want, Nate," She breathes.

"We should stop," I gasp.

"Other than that." She whispers, as she pushes me back farther, so that I'm fully laying on the bed now. She crosses her arms and flips off her shirt, tossing it aside, before pressing my hand over her bra and squeezing lightly.

"I know you want me," She gasps, moving her hips over my pants, slowly, antagonizing me.

She leans in again, and her tongue flicks into my mouth. Despite our drinking she does not taste of alcohol, rather she tastes clean and soft. Her tongue fights around my gums and to the roof of my mouth. She slides herself over my molars and then loops back around before slowly rubbing her tongue above the gums on my front teeth. I moan against her, my body betraying me. I begin to rub her breasts and she moans into me. Her hands go behind her, and her lacy black bra is tossed away. She rolls over, taking me with her, so that I lay on top of her. She guides my mouth to her breast, and I find my lips curling around her nipple, my tongue flicking against the tip. She gasps and runs her hands through my hair, pulling slightly, but I don't care. I don't know what is wrong with me, but I can't stop. I can't keep myself from lusting at her. I use one hand to hold myself up as I suck her soft, warm breasts, and I run the other up her bare legs. She gasps and begs me for more, and my hand obeys. I follow her thigh, slowly making my way up before I'm greeted with wet fabric. She whimpers at my touch, and I fumble around her.

"Not exactly…" She gasps. "Experienced, are we?"

I remove my face from her nipples which now glisten with saliva in the very little light from the sky. I shake my head softly and she cackles, before pushing me back against the bed. She gestures for me to lean against the headboard and I do.

She sits on the edge of the bed and unzips her boots, before throwing them aside, just like the rest of our clothing. I watch her and am increasingly conscious of the pressure growing in my pants.

She crawls towards me in nothing but her skirt, and begins to kiss my stomach once again, all while slowly unbuttoning my jeans and slowly pulling down the zipper. I gasp and try to say something but my tongue can't find words.

I try to push her face away, but my hands just pettily swat at her, in a way that could be mistaken for stroking her face. I waver in and out; sometimes the fuzziness is vague, but other times it's like I'm underwater.

Lara pulls down my jeans and I gasp, my breath heavy in my ears, accompanied by an intense ringing.

I look down at her pouty face as she breathes lightly over my boxers, stroking my cock through the soft material. I can hear myself moan quietly, and I stiffen under her fingers. Her fingernails scrape lightly, sending waves of pleasure down to my toes.

Her tongue slips out of her deep red lips and lightly traces the length of my shaft as she continues to tease me. She moves slowly from the base to the tip, then flicking around the tip.

She smiles deviously up at me and blows cool air against my still covered member. She then takes her finely manicured hands and pulls the soft cotton fabric away, my cock springing up to her face.

She moans softly and lightly slaps me across her face, and I gasp at the feeling of her soft cheek as it collides with my throbbing cock. She spits on her hands and begins to stroke me, slowly, before wrapping her supple lips around my cock.

I gasp, and my back lifts off of the bed in pleasure. Her mouth is soft and warm and unlike anything I've ever felt. Her tongue slides across the tip of my head, wiggling under my helmet. She then moves me deeper and deeper, until I'm all the way in her throat. I don't understand how she isn't choking to death, but my mind is so full of pleasure that it barely crosses my mind. Rather, I'm overwhelmed with the increasing need to orgasm, with no worry in regards to the means.

Lara moves her head up and down, and I watch my cock sliding in and out of her mouth, between those sexy, fat lips, and she looks up at me with her stunning green eyes. I groan softly and she slides her beautiful soft hands down to my balls. She strokes them lightly and continues to suck my member with increasing pressure. I can feel myself twitching, and judging by the smile on her face, she can, too. She removes her hand from me, and her lips pop off of my tip with a sucking sound. I groan as if to ask for more, and she replaces my previous treatment with the large, soft breasts I have been lusting after for days now. She rubs my thickness between them and I gasp at the feeling. She rubs me faster and faster and I groan. I'm so close, so so close. She rubs faster, and wraps her lips around the red tip, and then my hips buck up and my mind is blank and all I know and have ever known is the incredible feeling—the pure ecstasy as waves of hot spunk shoot into her mouth. She milks the cum from me until I lay on the bed, unable to move. I watch as she puts my now limp member away in my boxers, then tucks me neatly into my jeans.

I look up at her, and my mouth is dry and I am exhausted, but I feel guilty, because I know I'm supposed to pleasure her in return.

"But" I croak, "you,"

She laughs. "As if, sweetheart," She bends over to kiss me on the cheek, then continues to dress herself. She looks in a mirror and straightens herself up before she heads for the door.

"See you," She whispers, but I barely hear her over the intense ringing in my ears and the splitting pain in my head. My tongue tries to wet my lips but fails.

The room spins, and my vision fades lightly, until I'm lulled into unconsciousness.


	6. Chapter 6

Everything fades in and out that night.

I hear voices come in, and hands on me. Everything is indistinct. I'm being lifted and moving and I'm dizzy and I want to lie down again. I can hear a vague groan which must be coming from myself.

I'm thrown onto a soft surface. I hear voices again, clearer this time. A man's voice, deep and calm accompanied by a higher and frantic. Cool hands hold mine and I try to open my eyes but I can't. I try to talk but it's garbled. I want to know who's there.

Then there's light. It's soft and blue. There's no noise, just light. I'm overly conscious of wetness pressing into my cheek. I open my eyes slowly and am greeted with the brightest most blinding light I've ever seen. It subsides and I'm alone in the dorm. I sit up, my head pounding and wipe the drool from my mouth.

There's a loud pounding in my head. I groan, but it persists.

"Nate?" A cool, sweet voice calls.

So, not in my head, then.

I stumble to the door and open it, squinting at my guest. Her long glossy black hair is perfectly in place, and her make-up precise.

"What did I drink last night?" I ask Lara.

"It would seem you can't handle your liquor," She replies, stepping inside and handing me a paper mug with a green fairy on the side.

I laugh halfheartedly. "I can assure you that is not the case,"

"We had the same thing, Nate," She sighs, looking at me with those eyes—the frightening, calculating eyes. "Is cream and sugar all right?"

I nod and try to rub the sensitivity out of my eyes. She practically glows, if she hadn't already.

"I just came to check on you,"

I nod again. I stare at her lips mindlessly.

"So, what happened last night?"

"Don't you remember?"

"I remember…" I trail off. "And then you leaving, but not much else,"

She blushes, and her posture says insecure. I sit down next to her, and her eyes say confident.

"I'm sorry about that," She purrs, clearly not sorry as she places her hand on my knee, "I just couldn't help myself after that drinking,"

I stare back at her. She's beautiful, in a rare, strange way I've never seen before. Not like the models in the magazines the boys at Red Room had. She was so _real_.

"Anyhow," She continues, moving her hand off of me, and I instantly wish she hadn't, "I left the party early, and Heidi—our driver—took me home. Later, Tara came in fussing about you; how she had to carry you; there was something wrong—I thought she was just being Tara, you know? But here you are, high as a kite. Poor Claire wanted to stay with you all night," She watches me intently as she says this. "Mark wouldn't let her of, course, he was disdained enough by your state, and didn't want a hysterical girl flopping about. He even grumbled something about not receiving a twenty four hour notice?"

I smile as I sip my coffee.

"He's off to his parent's house, and here you are," She smiles broadly. "Are you feeling any better?"

I nod solemnly. "I should tell everyone I'm alright," I sigh.

"But I'm not done visiting," She growls in my ear.

I laugh. "For someone who showed no desire to have me touch you last night, you do seem eager now," I reply.

She rolls her giant green eyes. "I wasn't implying anything,"

"Oh?"

"Just that I'd like to spend the morning with you."

I study her angular face, and she studies me in return.

"Tell me about Heimdall,"

"_Heidi,_" Lara hisses.

"Tell me about _Heidi," _I correct

"What about her?"

"Has she been with your family a long time?"

Lara fiddles with her ring. "Longer than I can remember,"

"You don't seem to get along," I coo, trying to coax information out of her.

"Well, she doesn't necessarily approve of all of my or Tara's choices, but that's to be expected from one who guards the family so closely. Why?" She squints at me.

I shrug. "Making conversation,"

She stands up. "I should go, father has a party with investors tonight, and I would suspect he wants Tara and I to help prepare,"

"It's barely 11:30," I reply, and she glares at me.

I sigh and stand up. "It was nice seeing you," I smile softly at her and toss my now empty cup into the trash. I walk with her to the door. We nod at each other, and she leaves. I swing the door shut behind her and sigh. Lara is definitely hiding something, and as far as I can tell it centers on their driver.

My thoughts are interrupted by another knock.

I turn the knob ad swing it open to find Lara sultrily smiling up at me. She stands on her tip-toes and kisses my lips gently. "See you," She whispers, and she turns to go.

I study the marble tiling on the ceiling. Little drops of water condense and grow and grow, eventually offering a telescopic view of the swirling white pattern that is the squares that make up the walls, ceiling, and floor of the tiny bathroom Mark and I share. Water pours across my face and I close my eyes and lean against the wall.

I had to have been drugged the night before. It was the only possible explanation. Drinking had never been an issue, and even my first experience with alcohol hadn't been quite so intense. But why? What had been the purpose of intoxicating me? Had something happened the night before that I missed?

I run my hands through my hair and turn off the water.

Perhaps it was an accident. No one knew where I had really come from, had they? If my cover was not blown, then there would be no reason to prevent me from functioning properly the night before. I poke my head out of the shower and glance around the tidily kept shelves, only to find them towel-less.

I sigh and drip onto the floor, leaving puddles where I step on the cold material.

I swing the door open and walk to the hamper, digging around for one of the red towels that had been packed for me.

My door knob jiggles behind me and I whip around, my hair sticking to my face as I inch closer. I hear the scratching of something being inserted into the lock; the continued jingling asserting that it is not in fact a key. Grab my knife off of my dresser and press myself against the wall, my back slicking against the plaster. The door begins to swing open after the soft click of the lock opening. I leap on the intruder and manage to press them against the wall, my one hand wrenching their skinny arms behind their back and the other pressing the back softly between their long black hair and behind their heart.

Tonie cranes her neck to smile at me.

"Now, Nate, I'm not entirely opposed to domination—but I think we might want to start slow."

I re-exit the bathroom—this time clothed, and use the towel I had so desperately needed upon our encounter to dry my hair.

A cell phone is wedged between Tonie's shoulder and ear, and she flips through the books neatly tucked on the shelves.

"Well, he certainly wasn't _lacking,_"

She turns to look at me.

"Hm? Of course I looked; wouldn't you? Anyway, he's dressed now. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you came over. Yup,"

She suddenly turns bright red, and averts her eyes. It's an out of place look on her usually confident posture.

"Of course you can bring Stella," She says, playing with the loops on her jeans.

"Okay. See you,"

She slips her phone into her pocket.

"So I feel horrible, you getting so messed up at my party." She sighs, flipping through a book and then slipping it back into place. "Can't really handle your liquor, then?"

I scoff.

"Something else then?" She asks, tilting her head.

"Who was serving drinks that night?"

She squints at me. "A friend of mine, why?"

I just want to talk to him, see if he saw anything,"

She sighs and crosses her arms. "Peter Potts. But if you're implying anything, you're out of your mind. Boy's got a box of kittens where his heart should be, and a Vulcan for a brain,"

"A _what_?"

She rolls her eyes. "He's smart,"

I grab my gray leather jacket from the wall and shrug it on, before bending over to slip on my sneakers.

"Uh, Claire and Stella are going to be here in a couple of minutes,"

"Come with me," I grumble.

She watches me sulk out the door, before following. "So, are you planning on using your ginger telepathy to contact Peter or…?"

"Actually, I have this magical thing called a guide," I reply, looking at her. "First we're going to get Claire,"

"That's the spirit," She sings, hopping after me.

We intercept Claire and Stella halfway down the hallway. After their initial fussing, I fill them in, and we follow Tonie to Peter's room.

"Um, I hate to ask," Stella says, struggling to keep her sweater smooth as it rides up to hug her newly formed breasts. "Why would anyone drug you?"

"That's kind of what I want to know," I sigh.

Tonie pounds on the door, and a very tidy looking boy with pale skin and soft strawberry-blonde hair opens it.

"Hey, Tonie," He says smiling lightly. He turns to the rest of us. "And friends,"

He opens the door and gestures for us to enter.

There's a desk with a lamp that casts soft light around the room, illuminating stacks of binders and papers.

"So, do you guys need anything?" Peter asks, running a hand through his short hair.

"Did anything strange happen while you were bartending last night?"

"Uh, not really?"

"Did anyone else touch any of the drinks you were serving?" Tonie asks, plopping herself onto a couch.

"Not to my knowledge. Did something happen?" He looks around at us, furrowing his brow and squinting his soft green eyes.

"I was drugged," I sigh, "But Lara was drinking the same thing, and she was not."

Peter squints. Looking at me. "You had vodka, right?"

I nod.

"Maybe it wasn't the drinks," Tonie says, standing up. She places a hand on Peter's shoulder. "If he didn't see anything then I trust him. Boy's got a nose for mischief,"

"Mostly yours," Peter laughs. "If there's anything you need—'He grabs a slip of paper off the desk, and hands it to me, "-here's my card."

I'm lying in my bed, staring at the supports that hold the top bunk above me and sigh. Girls and drugs and sex fly through my mind, with black hair and brown hair and red cups and soft mouths, going from midget to model, or angel to warrior, cold to hot, and strange to strange to strange. My phone rings and I roll over, supporting myself on my elbow as I answer it.

"здравствуйт,"

"Hello, Mr. Romanova. I presume you are alone?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Do you have anything to report?"

"I am continuing to profile the O'Deans, ma'am. However, this past evening in an attempt to embrace the girls culture I had been drugged,"

"Eenteeresting. Are you able to send us a blud zample?"

Yes ma'am. I would appreciate the results quickly in order to determine the possible threat."

"Very good, Mr. Romanova. We hope zat zis threat can be avoided. If not, eet may be necessary to terminate your mission."

My heart drops. "Yes, ma'am."

The line cuts, and I groan. I sit up and rub my eyes.

I can't lose this position.

There are several soft raps on the door, but I don't want to get up. I turn my head and stare at my unknown visitor through the wood.

Several more knocks, now followed by a soft voice. "Nate? Are you there?"

It's Tara. I sigh, and get to my feet. I unlock the door, and put on a smile. But when I see Tara's frown I match it. I open the door wider, and step aside to let her in.

"Tara, are you okay?"

She nods, but grips her sleeves and bites her lips.

"Nate, I don't think anyone was trying to drug you," She whispers.

"I think they drugged the whole bottle, it's just that Lara…" She sits down and crosses her legs.

"She wouldn't… um… She wouldn't react to drugs. Or alcohol. Or anything, really. She, uh…"

I sit down next to her and stare at her.

"Someone was trying to drug her?" I ask.

Tara nods. "We are… targets, if you will. Due to our high-class standings." She gives me a very fake smile. "Lara is a bit rebellious at times, and I worry."

"I'm sorry," I reply, and I squeeze her hand.

"Just, look after her okay?"

I nod, and I pat her shoulder. "I will, but you should probably get to your dad's party."

She blinks. "His what?"


End file.
